Bite the Bullet
by Dixieland Delight
Summary: Postep for Twilight. Life goes on, but it's not the same, and it never will be. And maybe that's just how it's supposed to work.
1. One More Day With You

_Last night I had a crazy dream  
__A wish was granted just for me, it could be for anything  
__I didn't ask for money or a mansion in Malibu  
__I simply wished for **one more day with you**_

-From "One More Day" by Diamond Rio

- - -

Kate laid on the concrete bleeding from the single shot that was, with an eerie accuracy only gained by practice, located in the exact middle of her forehead, directly between her eyes. And her eyes! They glazed with death, abandoning their lovely dark brown color for a sickening maple. A sudden nausea wrenched Tony's stomach, and he screamed her name in a manner not unlike that in which she screamed his less than 24 hours earlier when the car bomb detonated.

He dropped to his knees by her side, taking her by the shoulders and shaking her gently but insistently, forgetting all about the bastard who shot her. In his mental haze, Tony could not tell whether Gibbs was still standing next to him or was in the process of personally seeing to the murder of Ari Haswari. He watched in horror as Kate's lips parted and a small trail of crimson blood seeped out the corner of her mouth.

Kate. Dead. His... friend? What was Kate to him, anyways? More than an acquaintance, obviously. He cringes as he remembers their conversation about men and women being unable to be friends- not without sex, at least, and he was fairly sure that he and Kate would never have crossed that particular line. Not without a hell of a lot of changes happening first, at any rate. Had McGee been right, for once in his miserable life? Did he and Kate have "something more there," as the probationary agent had, in such a clichéd manner, put it?

Tony suddenly realized that this wasn't really the time to be deciding whether or not he and Kate had the potential to be... whatever it was his crazy mind was dreaming up.

- - -

The hours began to soar past, and Tony was still dazed. He retained foggy memories of McGee coming up to him, and saying he was sorry, with an asinine "knowing" look in his eyes that were at the same time so mournful that Tony couldn't begrudge him it. Of Abby, who was crying, long black streaks of makeup marring her pale face. Of Ari's body on the autopsy table, riddled with bullets from Gibbs' gun. Gibbs was nowhere to be found. No one had been able to bring themselves to check his basement, where he was probably sawing and sanding furiously away at his sailboat.

And Tony- Tony had not registered yet. He couldn't quite fathom it. Kate. Dead. Shot. Ari. Blood. Dead. Kate. The words kept scrolling through his mind like news on a CNN ticker. He recalled the event being reported on the news in a phony somber tone by a bleached blonde with too-red lipstick. All of the NCIS staff, including the team- or what was left of it, could they really still call it the team?- sans Gibbs, of course, was gathered around a television, waiting to hear the report. And Tony recalled all to well how he had, before even thinking, drawn his gun and put a round through the screen. He remembered the silence that followed as he stalked out of the room, ignoring the curious glances thrown his way.

And he knew then. He knew that although it hadn't taken long to cease all speech at the time when he was crouched by Kate's body, it was different now. After a few revelations, Tony had finally grasped a simple fact regarding himself and Caitlin Todd.

He would never stop screaming her name.


	2. Immortal

_Today will soon be gone  
Like yesterday is gone, like history is gone  
The world keeps spinning on, you're going, going, gone  
Like summer break is gone, like Saturday is gone  
Just try and prove me wrong  
You pretend like you're **immortal**_

-From "Gone" by Switchfoot

**- - -**

Kate Todd had always envisioned her death as happening blinding flash of glory. If she had to die, she wanted it to be purposeful, key in a chain of events that played catalyst for something important. She wanted to die fighting for something she believed in strongly enough that she would accept death in exchange for what it would bring.

She didn't think it was morbid that she had thought about it. Wondered what it would feel like to hurl herself in front of a bullet meant for someone else. Wondered what it would be like to be shot in a tense confrontation between officer and suspect. Wondered if it would hurt, having a small piece of metal launched at you, traveling tens of miles an hour faster than your brain could process. Would she have a sick, hollow fear roiling in her stomach?

In the end, Kate had decided that it would be calm. Serene. There would be a soft silence that muted all sounds of life as she jumped, a solid feeling of _knowing_ she had the right timing, and would be able to accomplish what she needed to. And then there would be a few moments between when she took fate into her control and when she accepted what fate handed her. A few crucial moments when she would cough out her last words to the people crouching next to her. And then, peace. Just peace.

It was ironic, really, how she remembered that inner dialogue right before it happened. Right before she threw all her weight forward, between her boss and the shooter.

And her assessment? It was all wrong.

A shot of fear and adrenaline spiked from her gut, prickling down her legs and all the way to her fingertip. A small voice in her head whispered that she wasn't going to make it, that her timing was all wrong, that she was either too fast or too slow and that shot was going to kill Gibbs, and there was nothing she could do about it now but wait and see who it was that would die. She forgot all about the Kevlar she was wearing under her jacket, and she just prayed that everything would work out.

Just seconds later as she lay on the concrete, watching Tony yank open the zipper of her jacket and glimpsing the relief on his and Gibbs' faces, she decided maybe the experience wasn't so bad after all. Except, of course, for the fact that it felt like the bullet had broken a couple ribs on impact and she was beginning to think that there wasn't a part in her entire body that didn't hurt, and that included her hair. She blamed it on the adrenaline, and let Tony draw her attention back to the present with the stupidest question she had ever heard him utter in the entire time she had known him- and that was saying something.

"You okay?"

"Ow..." she moaned. "I just got shot at point blank range, DiNozzo. What do you think?"

Tony grinned.

"I guess you're not going to Pilates class tomorrow."

"Protection detail's over, Kate," Gibbs told her.

"You did good," Tony added as the pair of them hoisted her to her feet.

"For once, DiNozzo's right."

Kate would've laughed, but it would have taken too much effort and caused too much pain, so she settled for a smile. Things were going to be fine. No one was dying, or being wounded, or scarred for life.

"Wow," she said. "I thought I'd die before I heard you complim-"


	3. Calling

_The sun has fallen  
Another day gone without you  
My heart keeps **calling**  
And I don't know just what to do_

-From "Wish That I Was There" by Hanson

- - -

"Tony. Wake up. Tony. To-ny... Hey, Travolta!"

Tony sat up, back ramrod straight. His eyes snapped quickly around the room, assessing his situation. He was at NCIS, at his desk, he had been asleep. The edges of his vision were a bit fuzzy- or was that the sleepiness still prickling at his eyes? And in front of him- was that...

"Kate?" he asked disbelievingly.

"In the flesh," she said, smiling.

In one fluid movement, Tony stood and hugged Kate tightly. Pulling back abruptly, he held her by the shoulders and stared at her face.

"You... you were... you-" he broke off, and hugged her again.

"Tony, what-"

He interrupted her.

"You _died_- it must've- I was dreaming, wasn't I? It was just a nightmare! A bête noir," he said, a wide grin engulfing his face. "Because you're here, aren't you? You're alive!"

"Yeah," she said. "Yeah, I'm here."

"Kate, I have to tell you something. Now. Because in my dream, I didn't get to tell you."

She watched him with curious eyes as he rambled on.

"I just want you to know that, well- I- I care about you. No, that's the wrong word. I like you, Kate. That's wrong too, forget everything I just said. Kate, we're more than just brother and sister, aren't we? We're friends, at least, right? 'Cause when I thought you were dead, I was thinking about it, and I decided that I didn't really know what we were, and I didn't think I'd ever know, and, well... what _are_ we?"

Kate stared at him with her doe-brown eyes, but something was wrong. Her eyes were bright with fear as she stared over his shoulder. A shot of fear jolted through Tony, and he turned. Ari. The only person in the world that Tony truly wanted dead.

"Kate, _run!_" he yelled, but it was too late. A shot rang out, and Kate fell backwards once more, and he dropped to her side. Her lips were moving, she was trying to say something, but he couldn't understand.

"Louder, Kate!" he said urgently. It now seemed that the only thing he needed in the world was to hear what she was saying. It was essential to his very life, and he leaned over so that her mouth brushed his ear.

"I lov-"

There was another gunshot, and another and another, and Tony watched in horror as Kate's body was torn apart by bullet after bullet, and her blood was gushing all over and soaking the carpet and his clothes and pooling on the floor-

Tony woke screaming. He was drenched in sweat, and he was choking on half-sobs of grief and rage, punctuated by expletive after expletive.

And now that he thought about it, the whole dream was wrong, all wrong. Kate would never let him hug her twice without a _very_ good explanation, and she wouldn't just accept the fact he'd dreamed about her dying and move on, and she would never, ever tell him what she'd been about to say in his dream.

He leaned over and snatched the phone of the bedside, and began to fiercely punch numbers. Clutching the phone tightly, he waited seven rings until the machine picked up.

"You've reached the residence of Caitlin Todd. Either I'm not at home, or the phone's off the hook-" here she laughed, her lighthearted, cheerful laugh- "so leave a message after the tone and I'll get back to you."

Tony slowly replaced the phone back in its cradle, and sank into his pillows, staring at the ceiling. His alarm clock read 2:16 in the morning. It was going to be a long night.


	4. Nothing To Lose

_It's you and me, and all of the people  
__With nothing to do and **nothing to lose  
**__And it's you and me, and all of the people  
__And I don't know why I can't keep my eyes off of you_

-From "You and Me" by Lifehouse

- - -

A soft ring was the sound that a confused Tony woke to. His surprise was not caused by the fact that his phone was ringing at 4:21 A.M., or that the quiet sound was enough to jolt him out of sleep, but that he'd managed to fall asleep in the first place. He stared at the phone for a moment before fuzzily deciding he should probably answer it.

"Hello?"

"Tony, it's me!" Abby's voice was frantic.

"Abbs, it's four in the morning. Not really in the mood to chat right now. Perhaps we could schedule a little morning tête-à-tête." His voice, though laced with drowsiness, was still dry and sarcastic.

"No, Tony, I didn't call to talk, this is urgent! Kate's dog, someone needs to take care of her!"

"Kate has a dog?" he asked, interested, forgetting all about his previous lethargy.

"Don't you remember Tony the dog?"

"Kate kept that beast?"

"Uh-huh."

"With that name?"

"Yup."

"And you want _me_ to go take care of my namesake."

"Ye-es," Abby said in a pleading voice.

"Well, why can't you?"

"Because my car's in the shop."

"Wow," Tony said. "That's a really-" he searched for the right word- "_normal_ reason. I was just waiting for you to say something about how your newest mad-scientist boyfriend blew up your entire apartment while mixing dangerous chemicals and you're too busy filing a destruction of property suit with your lawyer to go feed a poor little dog."

"Just _go_, Tony!"

Tony was left sitting in bed with a dial tone and a nagging feeling that he'd forgotten something. He quickly realized his mistake and swore softly.

"Address," he moaned.

This was how Tony ended up at the Naval Criminal Investigative Services main building at four-thirty A.M., shuffling through personnel files.

"Taylor... Thomas... Thompson... Todd, Caitlin."

He scribbled down her address, put her file away, and left.

Ten minutes later, as he stood outside her apartment door, he remembered that he did not possess an essential item to entry. Tony clenched his teeth and tried very hard not to yell. He dialed Abby's number on his cellphone and she answered.

"You don't happen to have _keys_ to Kate's apartment, do you, Abby?"

"Spare's under the gardenia by the door, Tony. Didn't I tell you?"

He hung up on her.

No sooner had Tony crossed the threshold than a shrill barking began, and the skittering of nails on the floor trumpeted the arrival of the terrier.

"Easy there," Tony said, squatting down and reaching a hand out to the dog, who, regarding him suspiciously, sniffed it and bared her teeth. "I remember you all right, Little Tony."

It was a bit of a struggle to get the dog out to his car, and Tony didn't want to leave her there while he got dog food, but the supermarket wasn't exactly dog-friendly and he really had no choice. So he made his trip as short as possible, and to his astonishment upon arrival back at the car, Little Tony had not done any major or minor damage to the vehicle or its contents.

Sitting on his kitchen floor, watching the dog eat, Tony sighed.

"I guess I have a dog now. Little Tony. God, everyone will think I'm on some ego trip, naming my dog after myself. _No, actually, it's my dead coworker's dog. She named it that as a joke, and after she got shot I took it in._ There's a winning conversation for you."

Little Tony ignored him.

"I don't suppose I could change it at this point. What's a good dog name? I don't think we could get away with Old Yeller or Blue or anything like that... maybe just a human name? Oliver?" Tony suggested.

Little Tony continued to chomp on her kibble.

"Oh, right, you're a girl. Um... Chelsea? Sara? Natalie?"

Unsurprisingly, there was no response from Little Tony.

"Sadie? Sophie? I dated a girl named Sasha once," he said thoughtfully.

Little Tony's head snapped around to look at him.

"Sasha?"

The little white head cocked to gaze at him.

"You want to be named Sasha."

Apparently deciding that her food was more interesting than Tony, the dog went back to eating.

"It's six in the morning, my coworker died yesterday, I've been having dreams about having dreams, and somewhere in the span of the last two hours I managed to land myself with a dog named _Sasha_. Great. My life can't get any worse."

Tony sat back and stared at his cabinets.

_You just had to go and make things all complicated, didn't you, Kate?_


	5. Can't

PART ONE: CAN'T FIND MY WAY

_I wished that I could bring you back  
I wished that I could turn back time  
'Cause I can't let go  
I just **can't find my way**, yeah  
Without you I just can't find my way_

-From "Perfect World" by Simple Plan

"Are you going to write down everything I say?"

Tony sat on a squishy chair across from a framed diploma: COL. MADISON. PSYCHOLOGY. The chair was very comfortable, but his back was stiff and straight, and his arms were crossed hostilely over his chest.

Colonel Madison chose to ignore his comment.

"Tell me about the dream, Special Agent DiNozzo."

"I'm at NCIS doing paperwork at my desk, and she appears in front of me-"

"Special Agent Todd does?"

"Yes. She stands in front of my desk, and she's talking and talking, but I can't hear her. Her lips are moving but there's just this dull ringing sound in my ears. Then Ari shows up."

"And what does he do? The terrorist."

Tony gritted his teeth. The psychiatrist had an annoying habit of using formal, universal names for people and things. Special Agent Todd, not Kate. The terrorist, not Ari Haswari. The "situation" or the "incident." It was all a lot of waltzing around the problem instead of confronting it.

"He shoots her."

"He shoots Special Agent Todd."

"Kate. He shoots Kate."

"And then?"

"I wake up," Tony lied. He did not want to be in post-traumatic stress counseling, but there wasn't a whole lot he could do about it.

"Are you having any problems with the dog?"

Making quick, sudden changes of subject with no apparent segue seemed to be the psychologist's favorite trick in the bag. Not to mention, here she was going again with _the dog_.

"With Sasha?" he asked pointedly. "No. Why would I have problems with her?"

"Several reasons."

"Care to share?" Tony asked, annoyed.

"Well, the dog did belong to Special Agent Todd. And if I remember correctly, you changed its name. That could be an attempt to move away from memories the dog's name brought with it. In just one example, of course."

"I didn't change her name because she was Kate's dog. I changed it because she had _the same name as me_," he said.

An eyebrow went up, and the colonel made a few notes on her clipboard.

"Listen, I'm fine with the dog. I don't even know why were talking about her. I take very good care of her."

"Would you elaborate, Special Agent DiNozzo?"

Tony sighed.

"I feed her, give her water, play with her, take her on walks, don't let her near the Great Dane who lives on the corner, keep her away from the road..."

"It sounds like you're very protective."

"I try," Tony said acidly.

"Would you say you're overprotective?"

"I don't know."

"Are you overly attached?"

"I don't know."

"Do you think your attachment and protectiveness towards the dog stem from feelings of guilt?"

Tony stared at her.

"You're saying that I feel like I have to protect the dog because I couldn't protect Kate?"

"I'm not saying anything, Mr. DiNozzo. I'm asking what you think."

Tony was silent for a moment.

"I think," he said in a calm, controlled voice, "that I am going to get the hell out of here."

He left the room, closing the door on his way out. He caught one last glimpse of Colonel Madison, scribbling furiously away on her clipboard.

After the scene had been cleared and documented by another team, Kate's body had been taken to a different medical examiner, because Ducky refused to autopsy her. They had removed the bullet, and it now sat in a plastic baggie in Tony's hand. Ari was dead, the terrorist cell was flushed out, and Kate was gone. They hadn't needed the evidence anymore.

He opened the baggie and carefully took out the bullet, rolling it between his fingers. Gently, gently he set it on his bedside table. He made a mark on the piece of paper next to it. There were three tallies now. Three days since it happened.

Tony laid down on the bed, and stared at his ceiling. He heard the now familiar plunk as his little white terrier pounced onto the bed, and felt the now familiar sensation of little feet walking over him. Sasha curled into a tight ball next to his pillow, and let out a whimper.

"You said it, girl," he told her, settling back into the bed. "You said it."

PART TWO: CAN'T LET YOU GO

_I don't know what I should do now  
I don't know where I should go  
I'm still here waiting for you  
I'm lost when you're not around  
I need to hold on to you  
I just **can't let you go**_

-From "Perfect World" by Simple Plan

A knock at the door drew Tony out of his stupor as he sat on his couch, staring blankly at the TV screen where an old rerun of ER was playing. It was one of what he used to call the "bad ones," where there was more about the characters and their relationships than the blood and guts and doctors fixing all the patients' problems. However, it lent Tony a little relief knowing that in watching this particular episode he need not worry about whether or not he'd have to watch them wheel a gunshot patient in on a gurney.

He opened the door, not particularly caring about checking the peephole to see if it was someone who wasn't exactly shortlisted, like one of Ari's buddies.

"Special Agent Cassidy," he said.

"Hey, Tony. Listen, I know this is a bad time, but can I come in? I need to talk to you about something."

Wordlessly Tony allowed her to enter and pointed out a chair for her. Sasha, of course, came bounding up to Paula, barking her head off.

"I didn't know you had a dog. What's her name?" Paula asked pleasantly.

"Sasha," he answered. Paula smiled.

"That's an elegant name for a scruffy terrier. When'd you get her?"

"I just brought her home today. She was Kate's," Tony said quietly. He assumed Paula knew about Kate, because why else would she be here? He also knew Paula would be a little surprised and maybe a little thrown off by the use of Kate's first name, since Tony didn't usually refer to her as Kate when talking to Paula, but he was damn tired of all this "Special Agent Todd" business.

Naturally, Paula sobered immediately.

"How're you holding up?" she asked.

"I'm okay," Tony said vaguely.

"The... death of... Special Agent Todd is sort of what I came to talk to you about."

Tony watched her emotionlessly.

"After I heard about the- the shooting, I got a call from the Director, and he- well, he wants me to transfer to fill in the extra position on your team, at least temporarily," Paula said haltingly.

"And you wanna know if I'm gonna open up my bleeding heart and let you in," Tony said with a trace of bitterness.

Paula pressed her lips together in a concerned frown.

"You don't have to say anything right now. I just want to be here if you need me."

There was silence for a little while until Paula spoke again.

"I heard your PTS counseling session didn't go too well," she said.

"God, who told you?" Tony groaned, combing his fingers roughly through his hair, which stood up in messy spikes that went all directions.

"The Director mentioned it. Are you doing okay?"

Tony looked up, hardly believing what she had just asked.

"Kate's _dead_," he said. In his mind, that explained it all. That laid all his behavior out in a predictable chart of something called _grieving_- a process, which, unless Tony was mistaken, was common to most humans, or at least those with a pulse.

"But you two weren't particularly close, were you?" Paula probed.

"Well, we weren't always on the best of terms- okay, we were hardly ever on the same page. But quite frankly, it was because I was a jackass to her. And she still stayed with me when I got the plague. I wasn't exactly in the best of conditions, but Ducky told me that the doctor had to kick her out in the end, and then she stayed overnight at Bethesda. She didn't have to do any of that."

"I'm sorry, Tony."

"I don't know what you want, Paula. Do you want me to break down in front of you? Do you want me to cry in your arms? Just- why are you here, even?"

"Tony, I just wanted-"

"Well, I'm the one whose coworker's blood spattered all over his face when she was shot, and what I want is for you to just go, because I do not want to fucking talk."

"If that's what you want, Tony. But remember I'm here for you."

She made for the door, almost tripping over Sasha, who yowled indignantly.

"Watch the dog, Cassidy. I'm overprotective. Underlying guilt issues, you know," he said loudly.

The door shut behind her, and Tony felt like screaming. He didn't want her empty comfort, or her friendship, or her promise to be there for him. When she'd heard the news, she probably didn't even cry. Not that he blamed her for that. She hadn't known Kate very well. But right now, that was enough to make him not want to talk to her. As if that alone wasn't enough, she wanted his approval of her job offer.

Tony knew that if what had happened in the past few days was enough to break his heart into a couple of thousand little pieces, seeing another woman sitting at Kate's desk would just about kill him.


	6. In My Arms Again

_If heaven was a tear, it'd be my last one  
And you'd be **in my arms again**_

-From "If Heaven" by Andy Griggs

- - -

"Where's Kate?"

Tony's head shot up from where it had been resting on his folded arms. A blonde woman stood in the middle of the bullpen, giving Tony an expectant gaze.

"What?"

"Is she out working a lead or something?"

The woman looked oddly familiar.

"Do I know you?" he asked, allowing his head to crash pathetically back onto his desk.

"I'm Rachel," she said. "Friend of Kate's, I'm with the local PD. My team worked on a case with yours once. Some sailor faked his own death while on the phone with a telemarketer."

His head jerked back up.

"Rachel!" he exclaimed. "I remember you now!"

Almost as quickly as he had perked up, his head drooped again.

"Kate's not here," he said quietly.

"Well, where is she? We scheduled lunch today two weeks ago, it's not like her to forget."

"She's dead," he said bluntly, burying his face in his arms again as he waited for the inevitable symptoms of denial. A gasp, maybe an accusation of joking around. There was nothing.

"Oh my God," Rachel finally said.

"Say it ain't so, huh?" Tony muttered morosely, without picking up his head again.

"Yeah, that about covers it," Rachel said, a hint of hysteria in her voice.

Naturally, she fainted.

- - -

It didn't really help matters that when she came to, she was lying on a cold autopsy table with a concerned-looking medical examiner hovering over her.

"How are you feeling, Rachel?"

She sat up a little ways and surveyed her surroundings.

Autopsy. Definitely autopsy.

Rachel slumped back onto the table with a dull thud.

"Tell me I'm not dead," she said, without opening her eyes.

The medical examiner chuckled.

"No, my dear, you're far from dead. You simply had a short fainting spell. It reminds me of when I was eight years old-"

Tony interrupted him.

"All right, all right, Ducky. I think she'd like to get out of autopsy now that she's conscious."

Rachel stood and followed Tony out the sliding glass doors and into the elevator.

"Listen," she said. "I need to talk to you."

"Talk."  
"Kate- Kate and I had a lot in common, obviously. Same type of job, same personalities in the workplace, same attitudes towards just about everything. And we had the same... views of the people we knew."

Tony gave her a dubious look.

"No, I mean it. Like, the first time Kate and I went out for coffee, I remember we were talking about you. Yeah, I know," Rachel said, rolling her eyes at his sudden animation. "Don't get a big head about it. Anyways, I said that you were a jackass, and I remember what she said because it was really surprising to me. She said, 'But he's _my_ jackass.' For all the crap you gave her, she still admitted that, in the end, you weren't that bad. Okay, so you were really pathetic. Part of your charm, she said."

Tony shook his head.

"But what difference does that make?" he asked.

The doors opened and they were back in the bullpen. Rachel gave him a look that unsurprisingly and rather painfully reminded him of Kate.

"Let me see," she said, walking behind Kate's desk. "If I'm right, it should be..."

Rachel opened the lowest file cabinet drawer and extracted a sketchpad while Tony watched, disbelieving.

"Ha," she said simply, flipping it to the first page and displaying it.

Tony stared at the image of himself, wearing sunglasses, hair a mess, laughing.

"That does not mean anything," he said finally, taking it from her.

"You can think whatever you want to," Rachel said. She scribbled a few numbers on a Post-It and stuck it to the front of the sketchpad.

"Call me once they've made... arrangements."

And as quickly as she had come, Rachel disappeared.

- - -

Once again that night, Tony found himself incapable of sleep. So he went for a drive. He left the dog at home. It was around five in the morning. Almost dawn. When he had reached his destination, he parked his car, locked it, and checked his pistol. Ready to go if he needed it.

Glancing quickly around the area, he began to scale the fire escape ladder.

The sun was breaking above the building in the distance when he reached the top. The concrete was white again, power-washed clean of the bloodstains. The thought that it must have taken a long time to get them off flitted through his mind.

Tony kneeled on the cold concrete, uncapped the Sharpie, and, in neat capital letters, he began to write.

KATE TODD WAS HERE.

He rocked back on his heels and stared at the strong black handwriting. He was unable to take his eyes off of it. As light began to spill into the grey atmosphere, Tony closed his eyes and brought up an image of that day, letting it form a movie of sorts. A slideshow of what might have been.

The first bullet hit too far south to have struck her heart, even if she hadn't worn a bulletproof vest, and he almost wished that it had been the one that did the damage. He wished that she had been allowed a few last words, wished that there had been more time. Wished that she could have died in his arms. It seemed like they should have at least been granted that.

Instead, Kate's life was clipped off before she could even finish her sentence. Instantaneous. There was no time for sweet goodbyes, for that last kiss. No time to for her to cough out her last words with her last remaining breath. No time for romantics, because this wasn't the movies. Just a cruel man, and a gun, and one little piece of metal.

Welcome to the real world.


	7. Still In Love With You

_What I really meant to say  
Is I'm dying here inside  
And I miss you more each day  
There's not a night I haven't cried  
And baby, here's the truth  
I'm **still in love with you**_

-"What I Really Meant To Say," Cyndi Thompson

- - -

The day was surreal: the air was a little cold, and the skies were tinted gray with clouds in a bleak display of global apathy. The weather was not nice, but it was still a far cry from rain and sleet and hail and lightning.

It was the first time Tony had seen Gibbs in a week. He looked completely normal, except his eyes were fire engine red. Whether they were bloodshot from crying or from one too many bottles of Jack, Tony didn't know. It might well have been both.

In a hazy blur of memory, Tony thought of Kate's first day at NCIS. It was after lunch, but not yet time to go home. Kate, whom he had managed to annoy to no end, had dragged him aside. Eyes sparking, she had demanded- this was her first day on the job- to know why he was hitting on her.

"What?" was all he had said.

"You're hitting on me, I don't like it, and I want you to stop," she snapped. "I am not joking around."

It was amazing, really, how much he'd managed to change her over the next two years. But then, perhaps "change" wasn't quite the right word. "Desensitize" was more like it. She had gone from being offended to fighting back. And she fought dirty, too, like having Abby alter that leather chaps photo. Somewhere along the line she'd gone from threatening harassment suits every ten minutes to being sneaky. Fun, even.

He remembered in the hospital when she told him she was going to make his life hell.

_Way to keep your promises, Katie. _

Kate's family was here. Her mother and her three older brothers. Before the service started, Kate's mother approached him. She asked him his name and how he knew Caitlin. He quietly told her he'd worked with Kate.

"Were you... there?" she had asked in a quavering tone.

He nodded, and looked away quickly. It was too difficult to look at Kate's mother. The resemblance was almost sickening. But then, surprisingly, Kate's mother hugged him, the scent of her flowery perfume drifting on the breeze. She was crying. He clenched his teeth. He hadn't cried in front of anyone yet and he wasn't planning on that changing. He hugged her back, pretending for just a moment that it was Kate who was clinging to him and not her mother.

The preacher had started the service, but Tony wasn't listening. He was looking around at all the people there. All the team and everyone Kate knew from NCIS, her friends, her mother and three older brothers, Rachel with her coworker Primo, who looked unusually sober- hell, even the FBI agents they'd worked with occasionally were there in their rigid dark suits, mouths set in straight, hard lines. Kathy from reception caught his eye, but he just stared her down until she looked away. Kathy was queen of the gossip network at NCIS, and as a general rule you did not have a private conversation anywhere near her desk or everyone from the special agents on the top floor to the guards at the entrance to the mechanics in the evidence garage would know exactly what you said, who you said it to, and what it meant in Kathy's terms.

Of course, the current office whisper regarding the shooting was all about Gibbs. _Kate Todd's dead, what's Gibbs gonna do now?_ No one gave Tony, the vain, egotistical womanizer, a second thought. No one was saying, _Hey, what's going on with Tony DiNozzo, he and Kate Todd had some real chemistry and Trish heard that when she got shot her blood went all over his face, isn't that disgusting? I mean, really, there's gotta be something going on behind that pretty face of his._ But maybe that was just him.

Eventually the sermon dwindled to an end, something that Tony was only made aware of when Abby put a hand on his arm, succeeding in making him jump about a foot into the air.

"You can go see her now," Abby said softly, without even a trace of her former bubbly personality.

Tony only nodded, and stepped forward to join the queue that had already formed. His mind wandered vaguely in a great emptiness, and he did what he used to do as a young boy to occupy his mind: he tried to think of nothing at all, even for just a second, and before he knew it he was standing next to the glassy mahogany coffin.

It took him a moment to look down at Kate, and as soon as he did he wished he hadn't. He felt alternately blazing hot and chill as ice and a burning nausea roiled in his stomach, because the woman laying there dead was not Kate. Didn't look anything like Kate. Had none of Kate's lively expression and sparkling aura. But the body looking like it wasn't Kate, it couldn't be Kate was not the worst of it.

The worst of it that it was Kate. That it had to be Kate.

He lowered his head and brushed his lips lightly against hers. But they were cool and almost waxy, and the sensation was nothing like kissing soft skin.

And it was only then that it seemed final. In a way, it was revoltingly appropriate.

Sealed with a kiss.

Tony turned, and began walking away, towards the parking lot, as fast as he could. He bumped into someone, and looked up. It was Primo, who had been wandering off aimlessly in Rachel's direction.

"Don't lose her, okay?" Tony told him forcefully.

"What?"

"Just don't lose her!" Tony continued on his swift retreat to his car, leaving behind a very confused Primo.

"Don't lose who?" he asked no one in particular.

It wasn't just the fact that Kate was dead now that bothered Tony. It was also the fact that the memory of it was beginning to gain the haze that times gone by tended to. That he could no longer remember with perfect precision the everything from the color of the sky to the way she had been smiling right before the shot rang out to how her blood spilled out on the concrete and his thought that it was so _fast_, it was all coming out and that she was gone before he could process that she'd been shot.

The whole weight of this was just hitting him, even as his shoes slapped hard against the concrete and he unlocked his car and jammed his keys into the ignition.

He stopped, slumped against the wheel and promptly began shaking. Sobbing. He just broke his promise to himself. The one about crying in public.

_Ashes to ashes._

And in the end, it doesn't really matter.

_Dust to dust._

THE END


	8. Taps: an epilogue

TAPS  
_an epilogue_

"I don't think I will ever feel about anyone else the way I feel about you."  
"That's very flattering. One piece of advice: don't share that with your wife, whoever she might be. She might not understand."

-Harm and Mac, JAG

- - -

Tony was woken that morning by a four-year-old child unceremoniously tackling him as he laid in bed.

"Grandpa!"

"Oof!"

"Time to get up! Gramma says so! She called you a lazy bum."

"She did, did she?" Tony grinned at the little boy. "You can come out now, Jen."

His wife Jennifer, a cheery, plump blonde, emerged from behind the door.

"You caught me," she said, coming over to perch on the edge of the bed. She kissed him lightly. "Good morning."

The little boy was now romping about the room. He knocked into the nightstand, and a small metallic object toppled to the floor. Enthralled, the four year old picked up the little cylindrical object, one end of which was tapered. He immediately began trying to pull it apart, and when he couldn't manage the task with his hands alone, he piloted his chubby fingers towards his mouth.

"Rick, no!" Tony barked.

Frightened, the little boy dropped the object and ran for his grandmother.

"Tony!" his wife looked scandalized.

"Sorry," he muttered.

Tony's pulse was pounding, and he was sure his blood pressure had skyrocketed. He retrieved the object and stared fiercely at it. When he looked up, Jen and Rick had left the room. Jen knew- or, at least, she had some idea- of what the bullet was, and why Tony still kept it.

It had been fifteen years to the day, and he still retained the memory of Kate's death, however faded and time-worn. He retained it because he couldn't forget, refused to forget. He fingered the bullet. _I miss you, Kate._ A lot of things had happened since then. He met Jen. Married her.

For a few months after Kate's shooting, Tony had stayed at NCIS. He worked late, drank coffee instead of sleeping for the most part, and he did his best not to think about it. Instead he turned his mind to joking, and flirting with Kate's replacement. She wasn't the same as Kate, not anywhere near, and he didn't hesitate to remind her often- _very_ often- that she was trying to fill a pair of shoes that would never fit her. She was just about blind enough to need a Seeing Eye dog, and she didn't notice that Tony was just hiding behind a cardboard cutout of what he used to be. _Kate would have noticed_, he found himself thinking.

Then, about a year after, Tony shattered. He quit NCIS after one morning when he didn't drink quite enough coffee to get by and ended up lunging across an interrogation table at a suspect in a sniper shooting.

It took him several years to redirect himself. He started attending Mass again, like he had when he was ten and his parents used to dress him up and take him every Sunday, but this time around he didn't want to be a devout Catholic. He just wanted to be good enough. Good enough to get into heaven, where Kate surely was right now. He was going to see Kate again, if not in this life, then in the next.

Church was also where he had met Jen.

She had been married once already, with a thirteen-year-old girl (now twenty-three, married, and Rick's mother) from a previous marriage. Her husband had been getting groceries at the local Shop Mart when a couple of teens with guns shot up the place looking for cash and a little adventure. She was around the same age as him, just two or three years older. She was opposite Kate in that- Kate had been a few years younger than him.

As a matter of fact, Jen was opposite Kate in lots of things. She was blonde, and Kate had dark hair. She had a stockier build, and Kate had been all long legs and slim physique. Jen was gullible and sweet and easy-going where Kate was feisty and sardonic and take-charge. And sometimes Tony wondered if that was why he'd married her. Because she wasn't Kate, was nothing like her, they were oil and water and there was no way to compare them.

Sometimes, Tony wondered if he really loved Jen and her family, if the only reason he picked her was because in the end, in heaven, he'd find Kate and Jen wouldn't mind, because she would have her old husband. But he'd said the words and walked the walk, and here he was, having been married to Jen for almost ten years.

Tony wasn't sure if she knew he kept a framed photo of Kate on his desk at work, next to the one of himself and Jen and Rick grinning and laughing. He didn't remember anymore where he got the picture. Probably from Abby, or Ducky, or her mother or one of her friends. But it didn't matter, because he had it, and it wasn't the wet T-shirt photo.

He drove to work. Parked in his old space at NCIS, where he'd been reinstated. Snapped at his team. Got into a battle of the wills with the newest SecNav. Solved a case. Barked some more orders to his employees. Didn't let them see him stare at the image of Kate, an impish smile playing at her lips.

They thought he didn't hear them when they were talking in low voices.

_Today was the anniversary. Of what? Something to do with the brunette DiNozzo has a picture of on his desk. She's not his wife. Not his sister. It was taken over twenty years ago. I heard some scuttlebutt. There was a shooting; that woman's dead. Did he love her? No. I doubt DiNozzo ever loved anyone._

He announced his presence with a sharp command as he strode into the room to cover up the fact that he'd heard them. He didn't want to deal with them. Not now.

Tony left early. It was Friday, and he had somewhere to be. He made a visit every Friday at three in the afternoon, like clockwork. He had been told consistency helped Alzheimer's patients. The nurse at the reception desk knew him by now. She waved him on, and he found the room number with no trouble. He knew it by heart. He knocked lightly at the door, and opened it.

"Hi, boss," he said quietly.

Leroy Jethro Gibbs was almost seventy now, and he didn't remember a lot these days. He had long forgotten his parents, all his ex-wives, FBI agent Fornell and JAG official Commander Coleman. He had forgotten Paula Cassidy, Rachel and Primo and their team, Director Morrow, and sometimes even Jimmy Palmer and McGee were a bit fuzzy. Gerald was another story, and the only reason for that was that he was inextricably linked to Ari, one of the few people Gibbs hadn't quite forgotten yet.

No, Ari was still fresh in his memory. So was Tony. And Ducky and Abby, and Kate. He couldn't ever forget Kate.

That, of course, was when he was normal.

Every few months, he lapsed into a strangely calm, serene state. In this state, Gibbs had never heard of anyone named Ari, was that a Middle-Eastern name? In this state, Abby still dressed in her crazy fashion and cracked funny jokes. And in this state, Kate was still alive. As a matter of fact, in this state Kate was more than just alive. She was also married to Tony.

This particular Friday, Gibbs was in that state. Different doctors said it was stress, or the Alzheimer's, or a defense mechanism his subconscious employed so that he didn't have to remember. Tony didn't really care why it happened, because in this state was the one period of time when Gibbs was happy. So he played along.

"DiNozzo, how's Kate?" he demanded as soon as Tony entered.

"She's fine, boss."

"At home with the kids?"

"Yeah," Tony said. "She said to tell you she was sorry she couldn't visit today."

"That's okay, DiNozzo. Someone's gotta stay with the kids, and it sure wasn't gonna be you," Gibbs said with a grin that was but a shadow of his old smirk.

"The kids like me fine, boss," Tony said, pulling up a chair.

"Well who else is gonna feed 'em all the junk they wanna eat?"

Tony laughed.

"Got a call at work from Dr. Houston. He said-"  
"He says I'm gonna die, DiNozzo." Tony opened his mouth to protest but Gibbs cut him off again. "I know he put a sugarcoat on it and wrapped it in a pretty package with a bow, but that's what it means. My heart's giving out."

Tony nodded silently.

"I'm not ready to die, DiNozzo."

_I'm not ready for you to die, either,_ he thought.

Kate was gone. Ducky was gone. McGee had been knifed by a suspect, whom Tony killed only seconds later. Abby was somewhere doing top-secret work with a government agency. The last time Tony saw her was almost a year ago.

And now the doctors said it was Gibbs' turn.

The visit that day was fairly short. Gibbs ushered him home to Kate and the kids, and Tony left with a sick, twisting fear in his stomach. This fear was not unwarranted, just a little premature. For the next three weeks, Tony continued his Friday visits as usual, and only one thing seemed off. Gibbs was in his tranquil, quiet state for all three weeks in a row. On the fourth week, Tony got a call from the doctors, since he was the only person listed as one of Gibbs' emergency contacts. When he arrived, Gibbs was lying down, with his eyes closed.

Before Tony could say anything, and without opening his eyes, Gibbs spoke.

"You're not married to Kate, are you, DiNozzo?"

Tony was silent for a moment, weighing his choices in answers. But Gibbs continued.

"She's dead, isn't she?"

Tony nodded.

"That terrorist shot her. Did I kill him?"

"You sure did, boss. Emptied the whole clip into him."

"Tony?"

He started at the use of his first name. Gibbs _always_ called him "DiNozzo."

"Yeah, boss?"

"When I see Kate again, is there anything you want me to tell her?" Gibbs sounded almost like a little boy, and Tony had to fight the sudden urge to cry.

"Yeah, boss. You can tell her... tell her I love her, okay? Tell Kate that for me."

"M'kay," Gibbs muttered, closing his eyes again and settling back into the pillows. The monitor began to slow, and Tony didn't know if it was death or sleep that was claiming the only lifeline he had left.

He still sees her sometimes. She's weaving in and out of crowds, or in the very front pews of the chapel, or on the other side of a glass storefront. He sees her as she watches him and she smiles, and this is when he's sure it's not a hallucination, not a mirage. Because in life, Kate never gave him a smile as soft, as sweet as the one that flits over her mouth now. But before he can say anything, or think anything, or get close enough to touch her, she's gone. And all she leaves behind is sorrow and regret.

Scars heal; glory fades. Fighting the good fight. And that was the end of it.


End file.
